


The Night of the Valley of Death

by Celestial_Alignment



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Desert, Prompt Fic, Survival but FUN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 15:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30074517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_Alignment/pseuds/Celestial_Alignment
Summary: Jim and Artie are left for dead in Death Valley. Just another day on the job.
Relationships: Artemus Gordon & James West
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Night of the Valley of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt chosen by @saphura on Tumblr! The prompt was:
> 
> "A scene set in an inhospitable environment, e.g., outer space, underwater, desert"

There was a dull pounding in his skull and when he opened his eyes and sat up abruptly, he realized a lot of other things hurt as well. His back, his hands, his head… And he was sitting in salt.

They had been on the trail of the notorious bandit, Fuego Kid, for months. Not only was he robbing every bank and stagecoach in the southern parts of California and Arizona, they had every reason to believe that he was building a small army of cut throats to take control of the territory. He was a menace to the west, and it was up to the two government agents to stop him.

They got close, too. They found his hideout in the middle of the Mojave Desert, a veritable oasis among the dry canyons and brush. Unfortunately, Fuego was smarter than they gave him credit for. He immediately sniffed out the impostor in his band (Artemus in a mustache) and had ten men take on James West.

The last thing Jim remembered was a chair flying at his face.

He was sitting on flat ground now. It was dark. As he focused his eyes he could make out the jagged outline of mountains, a deep blue behind them. It couldn’t be the sunset, the air was too cool around them. It must have been the dawn. He looked down and saw that the ground almost seemed to glow under him, and the large dark mass beside him was Artemus Gordon, flat on his back and sprawled. He was still dressed as a common pistolero, but they had taken his mustache, and his dark curls were in disarray on his head.

“Artie…” he shook him with a hand on his chest. “Artie!”

His partner groaned, a hand touching his brow and he opened his eyes. There was a beat, and he slowly sat up.

“Don’t tell me…” he said gruffly. “They dumped us in the middle of the desert to die…”

“Yup.”

Jim was still sitting, his hands moving over his body now to take inventory. He still had his suit, his belt buckle and gun, all his tools and devices still concealed on his person. No hat, though. He had a feeling he was going to wish he had it.

Artie was a little more sluggish, but he was also checking his pockets, secret and otherwise. All gadgets seemed to be accounted for, even his own gun.

“Generous of them to let us keep our firearms…” he murmured.

“Yeah, generous in case we want to use them on ourselves or each other…” Jim answered and pushed himself to his feet. He extended a hand and helped Artie up too.

Artie then took something else from his inner pocket. A small tube no wider than his thumb, which Jim had never seen before.

“What’s that?” Jim pointed at it.

Artie stared at it and sighed, then laughed. “Funny story… While I was in with Fuego’s band, I learned that he had an old ‘business associate’ who has an impressive stash of hoarded loot that could only be found with a map. So Fuego promptly killed him and took the map. As far as I can tell, he hadn’t been able to decode it yet. All clues pointed that this ‘associate’ of his was the brains behind the hijacking of that gold transport six months ago that was headed for Denver.”

“The gold that they never recovered and which only we have the map for.” Now Jim was smiling at the irony that Fuego left them for dead with his only key to wealth. “For a bandit, he’s not very good at picking pockets.”

In spite of their circumstance—or maybe _because_ of their circumstances—they laughed.

“Well…” Artie still chuckled and tucked the tube back inside his jacket. “I guess Skeleton-Clutching-a-Treasure-Map could be my greatest role yet. I’ll have to think of a good pose…”

They both took a sweeping glance of their surroundings. It was getting gradually brighter as the morning crept nearer, and now they could see that the white ground beneath them stretched for an eternity, and in every direction a mountain range.

“If I’m not mistaken…” Artemus’s voice was low. “This looks an awful lot like…”

“Death Valley.”

“Badwater Salt Flats, no less…” Artie gripped his belt. “Hard not to be salty about this.”

Jim scoffed lightly and patted Artie’s elbow. “Might as well get going…”

They had a long way to go if they were going to get anywhere at all. Jim began to walk, each step crunching on the salt, Artie’s steps echoing as he walked alongside.

They both knew which direction they needed to go. This wasn’t their first trip though Death Valley. Of course, this was the first time they didn’t have horses or hats or water. It was going to be rough. They both knew, without needing to communicate it, that they needed to head north through the canyons. With any luck, the local Indians would be willing to offer some hospitality and maybe have information on Fuego and his men.

They walked and the sun rose. Things heated up fast in Death Valley, especially in the basin where there was no shade to be had and the salt soaked up the heat like an oven. Jim had taken off his corduroy blue jacket to hold over his head on his right side where the morning sun beamed at him, leaving him down to his white suspenders over a white shirt that was already drenched in sweat.

Artemus, meanwhile, had fashioned a cover for his head with his red bandanna, his own jacket over his shoulder. They were sure to keep their shirt sleeves unrolled, to keep their skin covered from the unforgiving sun. It must have been about half past ten in the morning now, judging by the height of the sun.

“You do realize that Fuego’s probably relocated his headquarters by now…” Artemus huffed. “And we’ll have to start from square one.”

“Not if he thinks we’re good and dead out here, his secret safe,” Jim said, his throat dry, his feet sore, and his whole body hotter than a steak in a fire.

“You know, I never understood it… If you really want to get rid of someone who’s threatening your operation, who you would be better off killing, why not just, I don’t know, put a bullet between their eyes?”

Jim frowned at him, sweat pouring down his face. “Careful what you wish for, Artie…”

 _Crunch, crunch, crunch._ The sound of their footsteps on the salt had a constant, numbing rhythm, the golden canyons never seeming to get any nearer, the sun directly overhead now, their shadows small beneath them. 

“Poached eggs… Chicken maybe…”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, Artie…?” Jim rasped out, not bothering to turn.

As long as he heard the _crunch, crunch, crunch_ of Artie’s feet, he knew his friend was still with him. He still had his jacket over his head, blocking his view of the vast nothing, his eyes down on the salt and his feet.

“Things to try this salt on…”

“I dunno how you can think about food. I, for one, could go for a tall drink of water or whiskey.”

“Oh, my feet are killin’ me.”

“Can’t stop now, Artie. Keep walkin’…”

“How’s your head?”

“Just fine.”

“You know you walked into a flying chair?”

“I know, Artie…” It was still throbbing above his right eye.

“Hold on… Lemme have a look at it…”

He didn’t want to stop, he knew if he did, he might not get going again. But Artie managed to catch up enough to pull back the curtain of corduroy that Jim had fashioned over his head. Now he really had a good view of the flats and the hexagonal shapes that patterned it. It was like being in a nightmare, it didn’t feel real. He squinted in the reflected sunlight to look at Artie. He realized they hadn’t really looked at each other in hours with all their walking, and Artie looked a bit silly with the bandanna on his head, but it was the smart thing to do to keep his head from cooking.

Artie swiped a cuff over his own brow to keep the sweat from dripping into his gaze.

“Definitely got yourself a nice goose egg there… Not feeling sick or forgetful, are we?”

“No, we’re not…”

They never stopped walking, and Artie moved away again, out of his view. Jim didn’t feel concussed, but his head sure was killing him, and their current situation wasn’t helping. They walked for hours more, Artemus occasionally distracting with commentary or humming. He couldn’t whistle with his lips dried out as they were.

By the time the sun was sinking behind the mountains, they had reached the first rise of rock that led to the canyons, and there was a tiny plant huddling in the shadow just under it.

“Oh, beautiful!” Artemus sang as he dropped to his knees beside the little shrub topped with red brush-like flowers, his hands lightly patting its prickly edges. “I never thought I would be so happy to see another living thing!”

Jim dropped to sit on the rock that loomed over the shrub, his jacket in his lap and his hand pushing through his sweat-damp hair. The sky was on fire with the sunset, a gradient of bright yellows, pinks, reds, and purple. The shadow of the mountain range bathed everything in blue, finally saving them from the sun’s unforgiving and unbearably dry heat.

“If I ever complain about the cold again, Artie, just mention Death Valley…” his voice was hoarse and he eased onto his back, his legs hanging off the yellow rock, his arms limp on each side. “Even in the dark, it’s hotter’n hell…”

“And here I thought a place called Death Valley would be _nice_ …” Artemus murmured sardonically as he hunkered down beside his new friend, the shrub, at the base of the rock where Jim lay.

He heard something scurry in the dirt, and the screech of a red tail hawk. There was wildlife here, unlike the salt flats. Reluctantly, Jim opened his eyes. The sky was holding on to a deep blue as the last of the sun was fading away.

“Hey Artie… I know you’ve bonded with that little plant… but you think it’s dry enough to use for a fire?”

“Don’t tell me you’re cold…” Artie almost sounded ready to laugh.

“No, but I see a hawk perched on that ridge over there that might be a nice dinner guest.”

“Say no more, James, say no more. But uh… It’s a very succulent thing. I don’t think it’ll burn. _However_ … I just might have something that will…”

Jim turned his head to see Artie pull the small tube from his pocket, his movements sluggish but purposeful as he pulled out a rolled parchment from the container. He unfurled it, opening the map’s face for them to look at in the evening light. It was impossible to make heads or tails of, and Jim wondered if he had been exposed to the elements for too long, or if the codes really were that nonsensical.

“I just wish I could see Fuego’s face when he realizes he left us for dead with his map,” Jim said with a grunt as he rolled off the rock to get back on his feet, his body heavy as an ironclad.

Artie stared at the map a moment longer with his usually studious curiosity, but he blinked hard and rubbed his eyes in an effort to focus. While Jim set out to get dinner, Artie was digging for some matches in his vest pocket. 

A treasure map made surprisingly good kindling.

Dinner plans didn’t pan out, though. Rather than filling the bird with lead from his pistol, Jim had tried to skewer it with the piton attachment for a grappling hook. His vision was more doubled than the thought and he missed. The gun shot had scared away the hawk and any other feathered friend. It was a stroke of luck that a good-sized lizard with a striped tail crossed their path and Artie managed to trap it under his jacket. 

Wasn’t much of a meal, though. Once they gutted it and cooked it on their tiny fire, it was two chewy bites for each of them, but it would have to be enough to get them through another day of walking in the sun. Hopefully without any violent digestive reactions to it. It could only take them so far without water. It was June, after all, one of the months when the desert would be at its most brutal.

It was easier when they had to trek across the flat, level ground of the dried out Badwater Basin, but the next morning they were wending and climbing through the golden rocks of the canyons. What they gained in shade they lost in expended energy. Jim was feeling weaker and weaker by the hour, and his head felt like it was packed with dirt. Both of them had patchy whiskers from two days without a shave, and he ventured to guess they also shared blisters on their feet, too.

“Easy, Jim!”

He didn’t even realize he had swooned, his vision clouding black for a minute. Artie had a hand on his back and had nearly toppled himself.

“I’m okay, Artie…”

That was an exaggeration. He had nearly fainted five times already and he was seeing spots. He had a feeling his partner probably wasn’t doing much better.

“How about… after we catch Fuego… we stop by San Diego and have ourselves a steak dinner?” Jim said between shallow breaths as he cautiously climbed a particularly steep part of rock that had a layer of loose sediment on top of it. “Watch your step, Artie…”

He got a firm grip on one of the pointy parts of a rock and offered the other hand to Artemus, who gladly took it and let Jim help pull him up the slippery slope.

“When you say ‘have ourselves a steak dinner’ you mean of course that I’m paying…” Artie grumbled, but there was an undertone of mirth.

It was one of their favorite games, for Jim to let or trick Artie into paying for drinks and meals, and Artie would complain as he gladly paid. The truth was, Artie only paid half of the time while Jim covered the other half. But there was no fun in mentioning that.

Drinks and meals sounded too fantastical in this dusty wasteland. They eventually hiked their way to a dried gulch, which offered them a flat trail to follow. 

“On the other hand…” Jim spoke after nearly an hour of silence. “I bet you could work some magic in the galley and make something real special…”

There was a wheeze from Artie that might have been a laugh, his feet dragging. “James, my boy, as you well know my culinary skills are not far from a game of Russian Roulette…”

“Your soufflés are to die for.”

“And you said you would die from my carrot juice and salad.”

“Because that isn’t food fit for a man, Artie. That’s horse feed.”

“If we had been eating more carefully… this trip might have been easier…”

“Diet’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Artie mumbled. “That’s it. If we survive this, I’m following your regimen. Then I could do laundry on my stomach too… You know, like a washboard—”

“I get it, Artie…”

Another hour later, however, Artemus seemed to have forgotten their previous conversation.

“First thing I’m gonna do is have a cool bath and some cherry pie… Some chilled wine and a cigar…” He moaned.

There was a burst of yellow dust from the rock near their heads seconds before the sound of the gunshot caught up with the bullet. Their fatigue was forgotten and their reflexes had them throwing themselves behind another wall of rock, guns drawn.

“Señor West! Señor Gordon! I think you have something of mine!”

Jim looked over his shoulder where Artie was slumped behind him in the shadow of the rock, his partner sighing.

“Guess Fuego figured it out.”

“Which also means…” Jim said pointedly with a tired smile. “… that he brought some horses.”

“I don’t think Fuego Kid would mind if we borrow those horses and retrieve that stolen bullion…”

“Ah, Artie… In case the heat made you forget, we burned that map.” Jim suddenly doubted himself. “Or am I the one imagining things?”

“No, you’re right, James. We burned it. But only after I memorized it.” Artie, despite his gaunt appearance, smiled that devilish smile of his.

“Well, then it would be rude to keep our friend, Mr. Fuego, waiting any longer, huh, Artie?”

In unison they cocked their pistols.


End file.
